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by Dickbutt



Series: Dickbutt Writes Again [11]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Gender Neutral, Hair Washing, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Other, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 11:32:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9438320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dickbutt/pseuds/Dickbutt
Summary: Jesse can be a little clingy. Sometimes you mind. This time, you don't.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Original Request: can i request a mccree x reader where they shower together after a long, taxing mission? not explicit nsfw, just absolutely full of fluff and intimate gestures?
> 
> Originally posted at: [Dickbutt Writes Again](http://dickbutt-writes-again.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.

The best part of missions was always the end of them – and coming home afterward.

Even if home was usually just the dormitory at the Watchpoint – still nicer than anything you’d had in college, you would admit – it had a clean bed, and even more blessedly, en suite bathrooms. Not spacious or grand by any means, but there was a shower and privacy and hot water in good supply.

You made immediately for your room when the Orca touched down, hardly sparing a goodbye to your equally exhausted teammates, and hardly saying a word to anyone else other than a promise to be at the mission briefing later, once the team had fully recuperated. You didn’t feel it was rude; you had three days worth of sweat and filth built up on you that needed to _go_. It would be more rude to force people to endure you in that state.

Your door shut behind you and you immediately began to shuck off layers of equipment and clothing, leaving them in your wake as you headed single-mindedly toward your goal. You hardly even shivered at the touch of the cool bathroom tile against your bare feet. You didn’t even pay attention to the fact that you’d been shadowed through the base.

The shower kicked up and you jumped slightly when you were hit by the spray. There came a hiss through your teeth as the water stung the litany of cuts and abrasions covering your flesh, too inconsequential to trouble Mercy over, you thought, but you’d doubtless regret that decision later. You stood mindless under the water, unmoving, waiting to adjust to the temperature and to shake the fog of exhaustion from your head long enough to not slip and die in your own shower. The first layers of dirt and grime began to slough off your skin and you sighed, almost content.

And just as you allowed yourself to relax under the scalding stream, you heard the door click shut and he stepped in behind you. You groaned, nearly faceplanting into the tiled wall to get away from him in the too-small space.

“Listen, Jesse,” you grumbled, voice low and half muffled by the wall. “I’m _literally_ not in the mood, get the fuck out.”

But your words had no heat to them and he muttered something incomprehensible before dragging you back toward him in and holding you there, his face smooshed into the slick skin of your shoulder, where he began to sag. You stumbled forward, unprepared for the dead-weight of him slumping against you, and the lazy hug very nearly became him holding onto you for dear life as your feet slid on the tile. You caught yourself on the shower wall and let loose a very colorful string of curses, suddenly more awake. You felt the breath of Jesse’s laugh against your skin.

“Mmmh, darlin’, I jus’ wanna stay close to ya for a while, was real worried out there…”

“You always fuckin’ worry…” you mumbled, trying to right yourself, and promptly got a mouthful of water from the stream which you spat out.

Jesse gave an amused snort. “And you always go rushin’ headlong into trouble. Gonna be the death of me…”

Once the immediate risk of falling had passed, you stood together under the showerhead in silence. His hands eventually started to wander – he’d forgotten to remove his prosthetic again, or had been too lazy – and you slapped at them to keep them from any unwanted places. After enough reprimand his hands settled on your waist, thumbs rubbing circles into the flesh. You gave a weary, exasperated goan.

“If you’re gonna loiter, then at least make yourself useful.”

He chuckled, low and warm, and leaned in to place a kiss to your damp cheek. He lingered there, face to face, and sighed softly. “’Course, darlin’.”

It was impractical, given the small space and the steady decline of both of your hand-eye coordination, but Jesse buckled down and took the proceedings as seriously as washing another person’s hair could be taken. And after a few minutes, you appreciated his presence – the intimacy, mostly – even after he got shampoo in your eye and you cussed him out.

You returned the favor, after some careful maneuvering, and Jesse nearly purred at the gentle scratch of your nails on his scalp. You didn’t doubt he’d have fallen asleep if it weren’t for the risk of falling and drowning hanging over his head. The shower took far longer than it had any reason to, but it was nice. Comforting. You didn’t doubt you could have stayed in there for hours, exhaustion be damned, but the water got cold after long, and Jesse started complaining.

You stumbled out of the shower, sopping wet and slightly shriveled, and quickly grew chilly in the cramped space of your bathroom. After a half-hearted attempt at drying off, Jesse got impatient and burrito-wrapped you into a towel before hauling you into his arms in a bridal carry, with only minimal difficulty. Your surprised shout melted quickly into laughter and you slapped at his fuzzy chest as he carried you into the bedroom, dripping the whole way.

“What the hell,” you said, the statement half choked in a fit of giggles. You felt him sway. “If you drop me, I’m kicking you in the head.”

“Fair ‘nough,” he rumbled.

His heavy footsteps eventually made it to your bedside, still unmade from before the mission, and he dropped you into the sheets unceremoniously. You opened your mouth to tell him off when he flopped down beside you, the mattress bouncing with the sudden added weight. Your laughter grew weaker, but no less mirthful, even as he all but dragged you to him and half-smothered you in an embrace. You sighed, content and tired and warm.

“…should prob’ly get dressed,” you mumbled, face pressed into his shoulder.

“Probably.”

You yawned. “My sheets are getting wet…”

His only response was to pull you in tighter, his hand running up and down your side. You listened to his heartbeat, felt the slow rise and fall of his chest as he drifted off. You hummed low, pressed your lips to whatever skin you could reach without sitting up.

“Yeah, ok, I’ll just… deal with that later…”

His deep, sleepy chuckle reached your ears, already mostly gone. The sheets were indeed damp beneath the both of you, and the entire situation smacked of being a bad idea, but exhaustion won out over discomfort and the future work drying your bed would entail. At present, Jesse’s proximity and the comfort of being home were all that mattered.

 

(And you would forget this – briefly – when you woke up in a damp, uncomfortable mess, yelling half-heartedly at Jesse, that eventually devolved into shrieking laughter.

But that was later.)


End file.
